Tangential Connections
by tremor3258
Summary: A quantum duplicate struggling to find her own place is selected to help a historical Starfleet hero far out of his own time. Inspired by the Unofficial Literary Challenge 25
1. Chapter 1

Tangential connections

By tremor3258

Timeline: Set sometime 'before' the contacts for Future Proof, 'after' in the timeline of the mass recruiting of Temporal Agents. Also, as will be readily apparent, after Admiral Revka's meeting with her quantum duplicate in 'The Road at Midnight'

* * *

 _First officer's log, Commander Antonine Revka, stardate 87291.2:_ USS Wasp _: Captain Matthews has been very patient with my progress with the crew and other officers in this Starfleet I now belong to. Transfers to existing bridge crews can cause a lot of uncertainty in any timeline it seems. Given my 'twin's' success and Starfleet's mad desperation for command officers, the scuttlebutt is that my appointment is temporary. Commander sh'Theln has a great deal of respect for his commanding officer, and is likely to return after his kidney transplant. And to be a captain so young is still amazing, an opportunity I can't pass up._

 _This Starfleet is still strange, full of too many young faces. The regulations are the same, but things are wilder, without the calmness of decades of experience. It seems things were even crazier last year, but the survivors have started to hone their craft. Being here, back on patrol, I get the feeling that the bones of this Federation match mine – the familiarization courses at the Academy had to emphasize the differences, and I fear gave them too much weight._

Wasp _itself is a well-found ship. The crew is young, but so am I, and getting Matthews' experience on what worked and what didn't on this, his third command in two years, is invaluable. I'm proud to be her exec, even for a little while, and I've graduated to commanding watches faster than I thought. But perhaps my species is more emotionally flexible than we usually give ourselves credit for, after our exposure to humanity, my parents have handled gaining a daughter with remarkable aplomb._

Commander Antonine Revka – Starfleet, though of a service that may have never actually existed, grinned a little at that memory as she finished putting on a uniform. Her timeline was separated from this one by the presence of the Iconians, but eon-old energy beings and their manipulations had little effect on recently contacted planets, joining mainstream galactic affairs. Her parents were her parents, simple as that. It was almost disappointing.

She changed the pattern on the bulkhead holoprojector from abstract to an exterior view, the rainbow-streaked stars of warp. The _Arbiter_ class, one of the most advanced and technologically jam-packed ships in Starfleet, had actually meant a downgrade in quarters from being a senior-grade Lieutenant on a decade-old _Exeter-_ class. Windows, even for officer quarters, were a rarity on the compact little battlecruiser.

But the view of warp always helped her expand her mind beyond the quarters, and so breakfast was spent checking the ship's log from her time asleep, and checking any urgent business forwarded by the captain. It looked like more drilling and patrol, with no mission updates from Starbase 39.

There were a relative glut of mission specialists of the right time-in-grade, but that was only compared to the rare breed of command officers, and every ship in the fleet was being raided to fill out experienced cadres. Every captain was guarding experienced crew, and failing at it miserably for the hundreds of new ships anticipated to join the fleet this year needed their personnel.

By wartime standards, Starfleet was hideously understrength; even by Antonine's standards of a peacetime Starfleet, they didn't have half the ships they needed, and the commitments were larger here, with huge sections of space opened up that had been closed in her version of the timeline. _Wasp's_ current mission was a perfect case in point.

The Hobus sector was still 'enemy' territory to Starfleet after the Star Empire's collapse and the end of the Iconian War, a section of space wracked by gravimetric disturbances and bizarre spacetime distortions caused by the death of a star before its time. But progress couldn't be denied, and Republic and Federation interests were spreading into even a 'haunted' sector. Whether it had specters, it did have pirates, and _Wasp_ was the backbone of efforts to sniff them out.

That was a mission Commander Revka understood perfectly well. She casually dropped the dishes into the recycler, and made a few notes. _Wasp_ was still struggling to come up to its efficiency reports from its last personnel rotation. And if Starfleet Command did decide it wanted to fast-track its spare Antonine, she was determined to send sh'Theln right back to the hospital with a heart attack from sheer shame over the zeal she had performed in his place.

* * *

"Helm, prep course for waypoint eight-one-beta in our mission database at warp two," Antonine was saying a few hours later, as she 'minded the store' as Matthews insisted on calling it. That, apparently, was his usual expression, which had caused some concern at first. The captain was in his ready room, dealing with all the paperwork a XO simply couldn't head off. "Operations, all remaining power to transceiver. Communications, prepare primary subspace transceiver for real-time connection Starbase-39 for update on secure channel."

The orders rang out, with their usual affirmations. A tightbeam through this sector took a lot of power, even for a ship as fresh from the shipyards as this one. The usual back-and-forth was electronic, however, the latest Starfleet tactical and intelligence packets in, and all their backed up sensor logs to add to the Federation's body of knowledge – once it was declassified.

"Commander – we're receiving a priority in the upload – communication request from Admiral T'Nae's office flagged to Captain Matthews and a distress call rebroadcast," the tactical officer on communications reported.

"Bridge to Captain Matthews," Antonine said instantly, and she pulled the side console over to pull up the sector assessment.

"Skipper here," Matthews reported easily after only a moment.

"Captain, we have a priority subspace call flagged for you from Admiral T'Nae's office – they've also routed a distress call," the XO said.

"Let's hear that first – bridge speakers and my office," Matthews nodded. Antonine had no need to nod for confirmation, and the call came out after only a second

"Starfleet! This is mining vessel _Mad Venture_ out of Bolia past Iota Regulus! We have Na'kuhl decloaking off our side –we've attached our coordinates! Send help!" came a frantic message over the speakers, before starting to retreat.

"Cut it," Matthews ordered when it became obvious there was nothing new, "Helm, go to impulse, put through Admiral T'Nae to the ready room. Revka, work your magic and get me a workup."

"Aye, Captain," Antonine said, as the connection closed. "Transfer coordinates to helm, contact astrometrics lab and arrange a least-time, lowest-risk, and a stealth course plotted to be available at captain's discretion. Be aggressive on the last one – we had the Republic look over the cloak. Operations: level three diagnostics, all systems." The helmswoman nodded and cracked her fingers.

Antonine bent over her console as well, pulling what they had on the ship's registry. And given the coordinates from there, she'd be able to provide a decent idea what they were up to when the distress call went up, which might help. Also, she needed to see where other ships were and have that if they needed to call a fleet in. Though since they were the top-flight ship in the sector, it was unlikely.

She was sending the last-known crew list to sickbay when the call came out. "Senior officers to conference room in fifteen minutes for briefing."

* * *

The conference room was like most of the vessel, Spartan and slightly cramped. Admiral T'Nae was readying some frigate groups and released some intelligence data – with mainly proved a negative: there wasn't anything interesting in the systems up there. The Republic had cleared out the Tal Shiar nests and even Tholians were rare in the neighborhood.

"It's some tiny independent wildcat unit. They're not some intelligence cover. What were they looking for out here?" the Captain asked at the head of the table. Outside, the stars streaked past, back at warp.

"Well, based on their equipment, rhodium or iridium," the chief engineer (so young) said. "High value, easy to detect, and common in later generation star systems post-supernova, and pretty easy to process with high-energy gear, if the radiation makes it a bit risky."

Antonine said, "I checked the ship's recent logged traffic; their last trip was a rare earth vein strike near the Donatu system, but then I checked their last five trips – all of them were to that sector, but those trade lines are some of the biggest between the Federation and the Klingons; where the Na'kuhl have been concentrating their pirate raids on shipping."

Matthews blinked, then began to grin as big as a Klingon. "History would show the system those miners chose as unexplored at this time. And if you thought your history was good, and you wanted to hide something, such a perfect place."

Doctor Tellas added, "And if was something bigger – they may have actually kept the miners alive instead of the old 'pump full of drugs and out the airlock routine'." The Tellarite sniffed, "No consideration to actually bringing them around, of course, but I have to assume the _smart_ Na'kuhl aren't trying to alter time."

There was some brief staring. "What? An enemy you kill is a waste," Doctor Tellas said. "You lose any chance to bring them to your view. It means they _won_."

"A useful perspective," Matthews acknowledged. "These pirates are mad enough to destroy their future though."

"I didn't say they _weren't_ foolish, just that it _is_ foolish. Maybe they've enough reason we can save the hostages," the Doctor said.

Matthews said, "Hypothesis for what they have their?"

"R&R station," the Doctor said, "With extra sharp-knives."

"Building habitats for their relatives in this time," the chief engineer suggested.

"Repair station," Antonine suggested.

Science officer said, "Time travel relay back to their time for resupply and communications." The Republic liaison, a dark Reman named Manas, always raised the hairs on the hindbrain with his predatory countenance, but now his words chilled the blood as well. He'd been on only a month longer than Antonine, but she was impressed with his confidence.

The bridge officers looked at each other. Antonine decided to take initiative. "Captain, I've set the science labs to checking for tachyon concentrations as we close in," Antonine said. "Na'kuhl time travel is apparently 'hard' to pick up but maybe we will get lucky. We have a good approximation of their ion trail for the _Mad Venture_ from transwarp gate records, so we may be able to follow that at close-range."

"Good for now – prep your departments for emergency situations and probable combat," Matthews said. "We'll come out cloaked, but hard, so all hands braced on entry in case we come out too close. Dismissed, yellow alert in six hour, main crew on the bridge in ten for insystem transit."

* * *

They were lucky as they threaded the irradiated asteroids and drifting gas clouds of the system, another random victim of Hobus. They didn't drop out of subspace right on a patrol or a tachyon net, and the stocky ship drifted into potential invisibility. Unfortunately, _Wasp_ was no sleek warbird, built for it with phased deflectors and modulated sensor arrays, or an _Intrepid_ stocking dozens of science labs. They mainly had passive, and it was a mess of strange energies, an over-energized red dwarf blasting solar wind, and strange energies they could not analyze well enough to identify.

Unfortunately, it'd been over twenty hours since the distress call came in. Finding anything would be fortunate, survivors a miracle.

With the tormented star making an ion trail unlikely to find in open space, Matthews had simply pointed the ship at the largest collection of mass, figuring it was where miners would go first, keeping an eye out. When no one gutted them with plasma beams as they entered the mass, and their passive sensors a tortured mess, Matthews stood from the center chair.

"Helm, you're relieved – I'm taking control for the moment," he said calmly. He flexed his fingers grinning, and with delicate bursts of thrusters, maneuvered the ship tight behind a cluster of rocks, in a permanent shadow from the sun, but obscured from deeper in the patch of asteroids.

"No active scanning detected," Antonine said after a few minutes. "Cloak stable."

"All right – all labs and science personnel, you're up," Matthews said with some satisfaction, standing up and letting the lieutenant back in place "Time to pick out the _Venture_ 's trail out of the solar wind for the last day – or any debris."

* * *

With Matthews manning the bridge and worrying over the cloak, Antonine followed Manas down to the few science labs the engineers had managed to cram in. With the cloak and the smear of gravimetric anomalies blotting out the subspace passives, the science team was reduced to checking through spectrometers and checking magnetic differentials.

An hour's labor later and even Manas's stamina was flagging. "We have plenty of data, but no trend. Highly polarized ions scattered in places with matching energy levels, but not together and in some sort of line."

"A false trail?" Antonine asked. She'd been coordinating the lab's energy requirements to try and maximize their view through the cloak. "You can do some tremendously bizarre things with impulse exhaust if you have time and don't mind getting dirty rebuilding your manifolds. That's Starfleet though – no worries about trying to dampen down the signature for a cloak, energy fields everywhere without worry, wide-band deflectors."

"There's all sorts of chaos out there," Manas said absently. "I'm not sure I like the look of these tachyon bursts, or the scale. Might be evidence of heavy travel, navigational deflectors can knock a lot around, and we've not gotten a real good look at an undamaged Na'kuhl long-range sensor array yet."

"Oh," Antonine said, "Depends on your hull plating – we had a True Way ship that had off-angled its deflectors; I want to say it was to try and confuse the course, but the captain was convinced they were just idiots. We managed to find their base because some hull plating got knocked loose from micrometeorites, and we were able to figure where in the system the base had to be from it. Terrible way to treat a ship."

"Mass transit might explain the polarization," Manas said, "Deflectors pushing things everywhere – though I would expect to see more obvious recent disturbances in the asteroid belt – if we had decent charts, it would be obvious, without you could hide a base without any real effort. All these point energy sources though – not the normal results of the cloak, but clearly energized particles hitting an area. Something is shrouded, many impulse drives in the area, but what? A fleet gathering, a shipyard? A squadron moving on?"

Antonine frowned, and said, "Well, the captain certainly would want more information before heading against opposition without a fleet backing us up. He hates this many variables. Launch some tachyon probes, maybe?"

"Yes, a liaison and an exec from Command are already almost more than he can bear," Manas said with a ghastly grin. "But he hates failing missions even _more_. And we face unknown opposition – tachyon pulse can certainly give us the outline… but time is an issue, and the Na'kuhl have some of the technology of the Krenim in a more polished, less esoteric form. No, I prefer subtlety, but are you familiar with a man named Obisek?" Antonine nodded hesitantly. "Sometimes his ways are best."

Manas explained, and Antonine shook her head. "Well, once we find it, at least it's useless as a hiding space. Commander Revka to Captain Matthews. Please report to the science lab at your convenience," she said, tapping her commbadge, and began to explain.

* * *

Matthews was certainly enthused at the suggestion of action, and had taken them to the bridge from the science lab immediately. "Tactical – prepare tricobalts, maximum yield in pattern being uploaded from lab one," he ordered, and then added, "Resume red alert."

"Helm, drop the safeties on the maneuvering thrusters – plot least-time to warp-out point," he continued. "We'll see if there's anything still in the area and if the _Wasp_ can sting it." He patted the armrest on his command chair affectionately. His voice hardened a bit, "Security teams to transporter rooms. Medical teams to transporter room one. Anti-radiation team to torpedo room. Pre-charge all phaser banks." The affirmations went out. Antoine and Manas returned to their station.

"Helm, get us away from the rocks – prepare to decloak and engage firing pattern," Matthews said. The viewer shifted, showing the rock wall dropping away and showing the tortured, energized gases of local space, studded with rocks.

"Torpedo room reports ready. All buffers in place and mass-drivers charged," tactical said, frowning. _Wasp_ carried tricobalt, and while it gave an impressive boom, it was slow and easier to spoof thanks to the radiation it threw out compared to photons in the standard casings. And that was carrying the safe load, _maximum_ yield was simply a target by the speed of modern warfare.

"Decloak and engage firing pattern," Matthews ordered, now clutching the armrests.

The lights flickered as the ship decloaked, targeting sensors coming on. A torpedo salvo didn't gut them immediately, which was good in Antonine's mind. "Fire, tactical," Matthews said.

As a tactical exercise at the Academy, this certainly wouldn't get a passing grade. There were too many counters – but knowledge of opposition was just as useful. The ship thrummed as the pulse of its torpedo tubes passed through – and several seconds another, and another – a time on target detonation series.

Flares of white roared out – and as they began to detonate, spreading a deadly glare across the rocks, several Na'kuhl patrol craft frantically decloaked, plasma beams stabbing at the remaining warheads.

"Comm – wide band: Attention pirate craft, this is the Federation starship _Wasp_ – you are suspected of crimes against Federation citizens. Drop your shields and warp power and prepare for a boarding by forensics teams under the Khitomer regulations," Matthews said. Antonine sent the message – and slapped the macro for bringing the ship to full combat conditions, armored bulkheads sealing off vulnerabilities.

The ship shuddered in lieu of a reply, plasma beams bright heat splashing against ready deflectors. Hull plating flashed, but only briefly – keeping any sympathetic detonations on the EPS system out. The attack was cursory, the Na'kuhl swinging away to pursue the remaining warheads. Space before them looked like a mirage, twisting more.

"While they're distracted, tactical," Matthews said, "Attack pattern alpha-seven – corkscrew high. Full phaser spread. Disable if you can but it seems we're in a hurry." He leaned forward. Antonine worked her board, helping coordinate power flow to maximize the impact of each shot.

She – and her other self, she'd found, always pictured this like something from the more exciting documentaries and holodramas. The lone ship charging, boldly outnumbered and with the odds against them, with stirring music in the background. Presumably, the rightness of their cause helped them. Admiral Revka had been in a fairly lurid retelling of parts of the Vaadwaur War, to her intense embarrassment, and it was just as bad as the rest.

Reality was more subtle, and not so easily captured. They weren't nearly so outnumbered as it appeared.

The Na'kuhl, fanatics though they were, were simply enthusiastic amateurs against Starfleet's tradition. But there were always exceptions, where a captain could have driven his or her ship to a higher pitch.. The tension on the bridge notable slackened as phasers washed back across unaligned deflectors, rapidly degrading them and filling their emitters to capacity. Exceptions there were, but they weren't here today.

 _Wasp_ had a good crew, and Matthews control filtered down as perfectionism. The bridge gave the orders, but the way they were carried out in efficiency and power weren't obvious to a layperson until ships started exploding. Antonine would consider _Wasp_ crack in her reality, but Matthews was merely excellent in the war-forged Starfleet.

Space around the Na'kuhl frigates writhed, and then cleared under the insistent spears of orange light, shields collapsing and hulls crackling with energy as nadion streams tore matter into energy. One spewed antimatter frantically – coming to a relative halt, surrounded by steams of plasma, its EPS system collapsed. A second staggered, spewed a scant few escape pods, and became a new sun. The third stopped trying to tag warheads and dumped power to impulse, moving for an area of distressed space.

"Deploy drones, chroniton mode, give me maneuvering plotting" Matthews said, "Give them a taste of their own medicine. Ready tractor beam."

"Reading wide-beam short-area distress calls and at least," Manas said and stopped, surprise etched on his gargoyle face. "At least _fifteen_ tight-beam messages. They are bouncing off the rocks around here with all the distortions, may be more."

"Relay their probable vectors to the reinforcement fleet and Starbase 39," Matthews said. "What's happening ahead?" The ship's noise grew louder as power fed to impulse, trying to catch up with the smaller ship, which had a definite acceleration advantage. With a lurch, two heavy drones dropped from the shuttlebay, scattering short-ranged torpedo-mines as they raced towards the last patrol frigate.

"Distortion is contracting," Manas said, "Definitely reading chroniton and gravitational action along with a tachyon web. Frigate is within original period of anomaly – updating tactical plotting, several new asteroids appearing – asteroids doubling, now reading chronal quantum distortions consistent with Na'kuhl technology. Multiple small satellites appearing – showing signs of electrical overload." Dots appeared on screen, technological and natural satellites – stars doubled, twisted, looking like warp effect.

"Captain," Antonine said, "Those probably extended a cloak around the distortion area, but they may be carrying weapons, or additional temporal technology."

"Right," Matthews said, "Detailed scans if we can, time until drone impact."

"Four seconds mark," Antonine replied. "Three, two," the screen flared, a pulse of thin plasma needles – both drones exploded, as well as several of the replicated mines they'd dropped. "Taadari plasma barrage fired, drones destroyed."

The closet two mines oriented and launched. The frigate's shields flared, the odd slow play of light from chroniton torpedoes, as it impacted the distortion. Space flared, a small galaxy birthing and dying, views of a thousand different realities, before dying away as silently as they emerged – revealing a dozen small stations, in the orange, finned organic flare of Na'kuhl designs – a small shipyard.

Tactical cursed as his plot updated. Matthews turned and raised an eyebrow. "A proper status update, please," he said coolly.

"One _Khaerops_ -class dreadnought present in gantries at largest station. It's acquiring a lock but its firing arcs are currently obscured" Tactical said breathlessly. "At least four other clusters as independent stations. Not reading defensive weapons, navigational shields only."

Manas broke in, "No power readings originating in dreadnought – it looks like one warp nacelle is currently removed. Station power is increasing – they're increasing power flow and the capital ship's engines are in cold-restart. No sign of the _Venture_ – still a lot of interference, I can get life-sign clusters but not distinguish them yet."

Captain Matthews leaned back, frowning, "Okay – clear the tubes of tricobalt against the dreadnought, and see if we get lucky. Plot escape course."

Antonine frowned, looking at the structures, and then took a deep breath. "Wait!" she said. All eyes turned to the breech in decorum, but she pressed on. "Captain – fins or no, a shipyard's a shipyard – and they're still using power conduits in the future – we target those it will leave it with limited stored power or even possibly feedback into both the station and the dreadnought."

Matthews turned to face her and they matched gazes for several seconds. "Belay firing order," he said, "Target connection points. Phasers, take out that frigate if it circles around." Antonine's heart started beating again as the warheads went out. They exploded again in hideous light, radiation and the sheer energy of liberating tricobalt causing the conduits to briefly appear to flame as the insulation on them simply vaporized from the load – lightning played over the ship, the skeletons of the yards, and the station itself. Lights flickered and went out in whole series.

Matthews nodded. Once. "Well spotted, Commander Revka," he said, "Now, all channels – all languages, demand their surrender."

Manas said, "Captain, the frigate's power levels are going critical, there's…" he stopped, unable to describe. The frigate dove into the gantry holding the dreadnought, nacelles flaring even in the visual, before it seemed to suddenly _recede_ , attenuating somehow, before suddenly snapping to firm reality, and then exploding. As the light from a warp-core overload cleared, the dreadnought was missing, though the gantry was intact, but scarred.

"Tachyon traces detected – some sort of time travel," Manas said after a minute.

"Deploy probes, get everything," Matthews said. "Signal the stations to demand surrender and get _everything_ to Starbase 39. Ready security teams." The bridge crew bent to comply when Manas interrupted

"Temporal fracture detected!" Manas said excitedly, then looked up. " _Wells -_ class, _U.S.S. Pastak_."

"Maintain red alert, get me weapons lock," Matthews said. "Who knows what the future's like at this point…"

"Captain Walker hailing us, Captain," Antonine said. The face that appeared has been well-circulated to Starfleet. Walker had, so far, been only using time travel to react to others, and even Matthews relaxed a little.

"Captain Matthews – we were dealing with a temporal incursion in the 26th century and back-traced it to here. Wanted to thank you for flushing a dreadnought and make sure you didn't need a hand with any other loose end," Walker said.

"Well, if you want a share in prisoner processing, _Wasp_ is willing to share. Commander Revka, head to the transporter room to liaise" Matthews said easily.

* * *

It went smoothly from there. The Na'kuhl method of time travel was hard to detect, but the version the dreadnought had used had fired alerts up and down the timeline. Hopefully, a whole strike group would be able to be snatched up as a result. The downside was their patrol as cut short – sh'Theln would be far enough in recovery and Matthews would have his preferred officer back in place.

She was still unpacking in guest quarters on Starbase 39 when the door range. "Come in," she said, having not bothered to change the temperature controls yet. A human entered the room – fairly nondescript and in civilian dress.

"Commander Revka?" he said, "Agent Crey – Temporal Investigations."

"Hello," she said uncertainly, "We had an appointment tomorrow at ten hundred. May I ask what this is about?"

"This is less about recent events and more about your future, Commander," Crey said, overly mysteriously in her opinion. "Commander Matthews gave a very favorable report on your initiative, and recommended you immediately for command." He ignored the sharp intake of breath. "Starfleet would prefer more seasoning, given your history, and an understanding of Matthews. It helps the science officer also recommended you."

"I don't think he was wrong, there," Antonine said, assuming they had seen the bridge logs. "Just that it was a better target, future technology or no."

"Exactly – Temporal Investigations liked your ability to see past distractions and variances to the real issue, and would like you to volunteer for some special assignments with us," Crey said. "Your record would be partially sealed, and the missions are potentially very dangerous, with some unusual equipment and situations."

"I understand Admiral Revka has some unusual resistance to the timeline thanks to her frequent travel," Antonine said, "But I don't know if I have the same."

"There's no way anyone sane could test it," Crey acknowledged, "But it gives you some useful observer distance. A lot of what Temporal Investigations does is helping people overcome the distance from the accidents and dangers that can result from Starfleet." He looked distant for a moment. "I have my own experience there."

"And you say I'll get my own ship?" she asked. Crey hid a smile.

"And a fast-track promotion, but you'd be getting that from Starfleet anyway. It may irritate Matthew not to have drones, but they need command officers. But yes, a ship. We have some specialty ships assigned by Starfleet to our office with unique technology. You'll have some flexibility with bridge officers, but the crew tends to be a little unique, as we're looking for those with temporal incident experience. The new ships need some shakedowns, they're from unusual yards," Crey said.

Antonine nodded, "It's my duty to maintain the Federation charter, and it survived one timeline event from my perspective – I don't want to risk another. I'm willing to sign up."

Crey nodded, and said, "There's some paperwork and a debriefing, but I do have a simple assignment – a familiarization exercise to assist with – while your crew is assembled. I think you may find it helpful based on recent experience. Also, based on your talents, in some respects, this is also a coordination exercise."

Antonine simply nodded. The disassociation could be maddening, but Starfleet personnel were tough.

Crey tapped a communicator – the button was on his wrist, oddly. "Bring him in," he directed.

The door whisked open, with a _studiously_ nondescript brunette human male of indeterminate age in a dark jumpsuit with no insignia leading yet another human – blond with a thin well-groomed mustache, wearing tactical red and captain's pins. Revka stood at attention.

The captain strode forward and studied her.

"Wow, the males of your species really have smoother skin, that's one of the odder things I've seen yet!" he said cheerfully, speaking Standard with an odd lilt. "Captain Dead Foch, Starfleet – undead hero."

The older man with no name coughed slightly. "Commander Revka is not a Saurian, though I admit the coloration is similar."

The human looked her over again, and gave a low whistle, " _How_ many species does the Federation have now? No, don't answer that, please," he said, holding up a hand. "But, come, let me at least bring you a dinner aboard my ship as an apology, and to see if we can repair our working relationship."

Antonine glanced at Crey, who shrugged, and the other man, who did nothing. "All right," she said, "I packed light – let me get my tailor specs in and get a formal uniform done up."

"Such a lack of things in the future," Dean remarked. "But I sympathize – I much prefer the old sand-color and the old workshirts to these two-pieces and red." He brightened, "Though I understand for common use the regulations allow a great deal of latitude – wonderful thing, latitude, seems never to go out of style."

 _Before replicators?_ She thought.

"Captain," she said carefully out loud, "my history may be a bit shaky, where did you originate?'

"2265," he said, "Commander and shipmaster of a sweet little _Pioneer_ , but they build them so big and fast these days, and the poor _Conestoga_ was a wreck."

Crey coughed, "That was 150 years ago," he said, chidingly. "Captain – you should be kinder to the Commander, she's just as time-lost but laterally." Turning to face her directly, Crey explained, "Captain Foch commanded the _Conestoga_ in the Battle of Caleb IV."

" _That_ Foch?" she said. Foch grinned devishily. "I read Admiral Garret's dissertation on tactical reactions to new technologies as part of my lieutenant certification." She looked at him. "I have to say, it was very nice of Starfleet to give a dead man another chance."

Foch laughed at that, "Oh, good – I'm going to make mistakes, I don't want you blinded by my heroic limelight. I like this one, I think we can work together." Foch held out a hand and took it, eyes lit. Antonine giving it a firm grip.

 _I suspect I may have had an easier time with the control freak_ , Antonine thought, but with a warm tone – this, at least, was certainly something the 'her' here had not done before.'

* * *

End Chapter 1

Author's note:  
Daniels of course, is making sure Foch doesn't do anything too damaging until he can pass him off safely. Antonine's alternate came about in 'The Road At Midnight', courtesy of Q's intervention. It's a lot to live up to, yourself.

Dean is my AoY character, and he'll really get introduced when I do a bit from his perspective as part 2. Matthews is a random example of an excelling post-Vega officer shot up the ranks, not the best at delegation, but very competent. Takes a lot of heroes to save civilization on all the craziness.


	2. Chapter 2

Tangential Connections

Chapter 2

By tremor3258

Note: The first part is set about the same time as the first part of Ch. 1

* * *

 _Captain_ Dean Foch stood in his quarters, or at least an eerie facsimile of them. They were the same psychologically neutral color and construction as those on dear _Conestoga_ , and even some of the furniture seemed to be the same – they'd saved his antique walkie-talkies, for instance, or created a truly credible replica.

Unfortunately, what passed for luxurious privileges of rank in the days of _Pioneer_ utility cruisers was too abhorrently small to be considered for a Captain of the Future. He kept falling out of bed trying to reach the communicator, and it was getting annoying. Everyone was being well-meaning about it. The whole future was well-meaning, if you could forget how many people had been making sport of Federation citizens the last few years.

Well, he had a dozen problems, but space wasn't one of them. Though filling that space was. His merry band of 150 survivors wasn't enough to fill a whole watch on this larger _Ranger_. Or possibly a _Paladin,_ there'd been documentation with both names. Politics, he supposed. All his crew had remained in this strange new world, though there had been outbursts, but he also had some serious departmental coverage gaps.

But, and he cursed briefly as he barked his shin on the desk, now in the way from the sink in the head, as he carried shaving supplies to start the day.

But – they weren't in normal Starfleet even back in their originating time, tapped for discretion for dealing with strange incidents, in a war whose end could not be seen, and combatants remained murky. He was tapped for the same thing in the present, but when your mission is to try and keep out of history, it's difficult to get crew the normal way, and poor Tarsi had not even the beginnings of a watch list.

He stopped shaving, sighing. Poor Tarsi – the Andorian had a large family, huge by Andorian standards. But that close-knit clan had been scattered literally by time, and their operational cover had left her basically clanless. Getting a stiff Andorian to admit there was a problem was hard, but it was impossible not to notice she'd dyed her hair ocean green and cut large portions of it off. So far, she was coping – and she was taking advantage of the counselors Temporal Investigations had provided.

So was he, for that matter, and he'd encouraged his crew to do the same. His family had not been large, but his branches of the Fochs were scattered by time and space. His heroic death had led to many joining colonial expeditions, and there'd been an Admiral Foch (good looking woman, bless those genes) in the 2330s.

But still, they were alive – 80 people had not survived the battle long enough for Daniels to work whatever he had, pulling them forward. Lieutenant Theron had died of shrapnel wounds not twelve feet, and Lieutenant Skarvin's valiant damage control parties had suffered badly. They'd been able to hold funerals, at least, on board this new ship. They'd let him name it, and he'd reached into his cultural history – the _Roland_ , another brave soul who had held the line until other forces could regroup.

But it was a ship in name only – they'd finished exhaustive briefings, yes, but engineering was critically undermanned, he still needed a new department head for science, and while Daniels had been able to tap some personnel to watch events proceed as they, apparently, should, that wasn't really a Starfleet mission. But he couldn't ask for personnel assignments exactly, when the requirements included 'secret time travel'.

So he was running a halfway house for the time-lost more than a ship. He just had to remind himself he was lucky they survived. He looked over himself, presentable – the old style tunics most of the staff were still wearing – bless those 'just wear pants' uniform regulations for detached officers in 2410. Everything neatly trimmed, orderly, a beacon of calm insanity.

"Captain Foch?" a voice said behind him in his quarters. Spinning, he hit one of the small case of artifacts, his reflexes were all off in this space. But a blacksuited figure grabbed it before it could hit the ground. He stood a moment, letting his heart get under control.

"Daniels," he said neutrally as soon as he could manage. The man had saved their lives, but he'd not lifted such a figure for hundreds in other situations. Gratefulness would only buy you so far with that.

Daniels didn't answer, but carefully placed it back on its shelf. "What are these? Old computers?" he asked looking at the collection.

"Old radios, pre-transistors, generally the handsets – the transceivers are too big to carry on a starship, and generally just thirdhand replicas anyways," Foch answered. Actually, most of them were replicas, but at least replicas with good histories, museum copies and the like.

"I had been wondering," Daniels said, "Old technology fan?"

"Just a reminder that new technology isn't useful if you don't understand it – and communication can be a lot more powerful than a new gun," Foch said, wondering why the man was here. "That was a replica from a museum on the Maginot recovered after the post-atomic horrors, if they'd had enough of them and a few less cannon, World War 2 would have run a lot differently. It could have meant the difference for millions."

"It is hard to know in advance what technologies are useful," Daniels agreed, "But a staffer in the right place is a useful asset. But I thought you'd like some good news." He turned away from the shelf, and with a shimmer, reality faded to Daniels' ready room.

He gestured, selecting a hazy part of the timeline into focus. "The Na'kuhl timeline incursion recently moved events back in our favor – a Starfleet ship discovered a Na'kuhl repair dock, and events led to a complete and rapid power overload. Starfleet in this time is moving to take prisoners."

"That's great news," Foch said genuinely. There had to be more.

"There's more," Daniels said, "The power overload was fast enough the computer core shut down without being able to be wiped, allowing a great deal of operational data to be uncovered. This greatly increases our available target list to counter Na'kuhl incursions without risking additional temporal chaos via paradox. It also provides some insight into their communications."

"Easier to stop it by having their plans for it instead of going back in time to stop time travelers," Foch said. Daniels had been somewhat vague of the effects of trying to time travel to beat time travelers, but it seemed to risk further disruptions to the peace of the future. It certainly made Fochs head hurt less when causality was followed.

"In a way," Daniels said, "Also – the breadth of operations include documentation of Na'kuhl operatives involved in previous points. The Alliance will greatly increase breadth of operations in the present, which should help your personnel crisis."

"Thank you," Foch said genuinely. Getting out of the bones of dock would help his people instead of drying up on the beach. Daniels made a gesture and several points were highlighted, then several more, then dozens at a time.

"Unfortunately, the scope of effects and potential effects was larger than we anticipated," Daniels admitted. "There may be other enemies moving as well, starting to reveal themselves. I'm working to get some of the Alliance's best recruited for large-scale counter-incursions, while we still have time."

"Are we losing?" Foch asked.

"I don't know. Even with this change, we don't have a good tracking method for Na'kuhl time travel yet. Trying to get numbers with the Na'kuhl association with the Federation in constant flux is affecting projections," Daniel said, then stopped, stiffening. "I don't know," he said.

"The Na'kuhl don't care about preserving the future, from all the reading you've had me do," Foch observed. "A location in the present could be known in their time. Where was the botch?"

Daniels mouth pursed as he explained, "An officer of some note – twice over. Seems to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, but her association with the timeline is somewhat vague. There's some powerful extradimensional intelligences involved, and it makes tracking her movements difficult from different points in time. Their projections showed the facilities being lost at worst, not an intelligence coup."

"How terrible for her," Foch said dryly. "But lucky for us, I suppose. Such a strange world, where the only value of things is time – and not even that, it seems."

"Accomplishments are still accomplishments," Daniel protested. "The present is building plenty."

Foch waved off. "Is she science track, then, this officer of note? I still need one," he asked, "To bring the department into the 25th century."

Daniels said, "No, operations, but I have someone else in mind for that. But her captain's not a fan – he's built his own team and it was sort of odd timing she was available."

"Luck can be a valuable commodity," Foch said, "Get her a ship then, but all this miraculous data – you have a mission for me, I suppose?" he said with a theatrical sigh.

"Yes," Daniels said, "And with luck, an officer – if you'd like to try him out. He's actually from a different universe, but has been working the Na'kuhl detection problem."

Dean nodded, "Good – and can you get the officer anyway?" he asked. "You're clearly going to put her in temporal missions, or you wouldn't bring it up – and she speaks 25th century beaurcratese. I need an interpreter!" Daniels merely smiled.

* * *

A busy month subjective, but a week later in the timeline – Dean had given up on coordinating when he skipped over a century – he found himself on what passed for Starbase 39 in the time. Gone was the long-ago cluster of repeating stations and antennae, keeping a bored watch on a still-somnolent Star Empire. Like most things here, it was huge. The collar on the new-model uniforms itched a bit too.

The guest quarters he was standing in were palatial, and given over to a single midlevel lizard lady. Apparently not the Saurians that were becoming a force, but one of the hundreds of races that sent an occasional officer or crewman to join Starfleet while the majority tended their own affairs. There were always unique one-offs, regardless of species.

Still, she had eyelids, so that was a plus. It couldn't always be guaranteed when hominids evolved from the scalier parts of the animal kingdom. And her grip was warm and solid. Also, his sister had a snake growing up. Daniels had moved off, leaving them and Crey to plot.

"We've arranged a prototype ship at Utopia Planitia – it's still somewhat stripped in need of a refit," Crey said. "Most of your crew will be pretty new, but at least you can train them into shape how you want."

Foch and Revka exchanged a look that transcended species. Crey had never been in command, to speak of building a crew from nothing so lightly. Revka said politely, "Well, I'll need to look at their records, of course. And I'd love to look at your logs, Captain Foch, if you've been involved in that, I could use some tips. It sounds like Admiral Garret's view on the Battle of Caleb IV was somewhat lacking."

"It's nice _someone_ remembers me, at all – I didn't dare look at the after-action logs," Foch admitted. "We can talk some on the diplomatic courier back to Mars," he said. "Transwarp makes shuttle flights more comfortable, no?"

"Your ship isn't here?" Commander Revka said with some surprise.

Foch winced, "My crew has qualified on modern equipment, but still needs experience. And we're seriously understaffed – policy changes are going to change that but haven't taken effect yet."

"I see," the Commander said. "Let me repack, I guess," she said, and her gaze lingered over some small ship models – old models, fusion rockets mainly. "And you can fill me in what we need to get Starfleet and this operation on the same timeline."

"Oh, I _am_ going to like you," Foch said.

* * *

The shuttle flight was an astonishing four hours – the transwarp network was a true miracle for bringing the Federation together. He hoped he would never take it for granted. They'd been able to cover some basics, and he'd invited her aboard to check over the situation – Crey was heading back to keep history from mutating, and apparently they'd thrown out all the time-in-grade rules since they were promoting the Commander to Captain, so he was having his office handle some paperwork.

They beamed aboard the _Roland_ to view the secure files. Commander _nee_ Captain Revka looked around the transporter room in surprise, peering at some of the wall fittings. "I know they built these to an older model to utilize some smaller shipyards as the cover story, but isn't this taking historical accuracy a little far?"

Skarvin, Foch's Tellarite engineer, scoffed. "So quick to doubt the height of human ergonomics of the 23rd century – we didn't have your fancy environmental controls or holodecks. Starfleet could build to one species, and everyone else had to suffer – we wouldn't have all this wasted ceiling space on a _Tellarite_ vessel."

"Okay, so grey is in, fine – but I've been to the fleet museum – these are duotronic computer run pipes like the _Yorktown_ had," Revka said, pointing. "Isolinear runs don't need that kind of shielding against stray electric signal – you can practically weave them into carpet. I can understand keeping the outside geometry, but there's a time and place for aesthetics. How'd the architects sell this one to Starfleet?"

"Oh, these old ships," Foch said "It needed the extra spacing for the molecular configuration, they explained to me, when it does the rewiring."

"That's not a term I'm familiar with," Revka said politely.

"Oh, don't try and pull one over," Skarvin said irritably, "The matter control functions – helps readjust the ship to changing conditions under computer control and keep personnel counts down. Makes replicators look simple."

"Show me," Revka directed, and Foch nodded startled. There was some steel there that hadn't been showing itself before. Startled, the Tellarite dropped his arguing to mere grumbles, and moved the pipe mountings from the wall, showing the constellation of sparkling lights that were masque by old duotronic labels.

"Captain Foch," she said after a few moments consulting a tricorder. "This ship is a double-blind – there is technology here beyond the Federation's current understanding in engineering."

"But not, say, theoretical or lab-level work?" Foch asked, a little grim. Revka nodded, startled. "I thought Daniels was trying to keep his thumb on the balance without letting on – I wasn't sure how."

Revka said, "If he was trying to keep this under the table, it may explain your personnel problems." Her eyes glittered, "But then I guess things got worse if they're letting people like me at them. I wonder what Crey's position is in this?"

Skarvin promised, "We'll run down all the leads we can, Captain."

Foch nodded, "Wasn't expecting anything less, Chief. As for Crey – I've met him a little, but his agency's goal seems to be in line with Starfleet and the Federation; allow our citizens to achieve their goals without outside interference. I'm honestly not sure how many 'Daniels' we're dealing with."

"The man with you wasn't from the current time?" Revka asked. Foch nodded. "Hmm. Let's check your comm links to Starfleet Command, then – there's a few computer tricks we can try but we should still go in person. She started to pace, thinking.

Foch nodded, and asked, "And can you check the statement of condition? Things may have changed, wording wise – that might explain it too." He frowned, and brushed his mustache. "I'm starting to think we were left in some holding pattern with current Starfleet, while we ran ground missions."

"Well, dealing with bureaucracy on an _interstellar_ scale would have anyone longing for a better future," Revka cracked, but briefly. "Without the Iconians, it'd be even worse."

"Ah, back in the old days, where you just could send logs out in the ether and no one cared if they were received – just happy you showed up with your ship at the end of a tour," Foch said, with some longing. "Of course, we only had a few ships – you can send anyone out with a pack of scientists and a mobile lab these days. Definitely would have made the slime devils easier to deal with."

"The wha?" Revka asked. Foch waved it off.

"Yeah, though there's no care in it," Skarvin said. "Been trying to get high-quality components, the time of life on the standard stuff is terrible – we're either going to be back in time and unable to get parts, or find ourselves without main sensors with torpedoes coming out of a Klingon attack squadron when a resonance chamber overloads."

"We are at peace with the Empire right now," Revka said – flatly. She didn't seem to quite buy it either. Skarvin scoffed.

"We're running an antique," Foch said mildly, "Or one built like one. Still, with all the Na'kuhl stuff becoming more obvious, any chance of bringing us up to standard is worth seeing, if something like the impulse engines are in bad shape." Maybe they'd leave dock sooner or later.

Skarvin argued, "No, the main components are fine but all the subsidiary systems are pretty clearly low-grade gear, at least for this time. It's built crude – kill to have it at Caleb, of course. Been trying to reacquisition some better wave aligners and high-tolerance degaussers – bet we could get five, maybe ten percent thrust for the amount of energy from the impulse system."

"Oh," Revka said without worry, "If you can go to personnel and see about what ship I'm actually getting, and the personnel, I can see about your engines." Skarvin scoffed again. "I spent three months making sure _Wasp_ would be ready after its refit – just point me at an engineering lab."

"All right," Foch said. "Skarvin – send me back out over and I'll take a shuttle to Earth Spacedock, and I'll see to make sure our messages are going through. Point my current favorite reptile towards the main engineering labs, and see what you can teach her." That made the Tellarite chuckle, and Foch stepped back on the pad.

"This is Earth, not the frontier!" Revka called as he faded out again. "It's not what you know, it's _who_. And right now, I know a whole ship of living heroes!"

* * *

That stuck in Foch's mind as he rematerialized at the center cluster for the drydocks. They'd died well, or tried to anyway. Why here? Starfleet was rebuilding to peace, in spite of the Na'kuhl distraction, with a military orientation still in effect despite them moving slowly back to a peacetime structure. He had a unique perspective, but Daniels could have dropped in the 2350s when things were fairly calm as a thanks for a job well done. . Why bring an independently-minded old sailor here?

And he was old, relatively. It was either ancient admirals, old scientists and security officers playing at captain, or the next generation, called up young. Not that he would call Admiral Quinn 'reassuringly old' to his face.

A shuttle was easy to arrange, and he pulled rank for once to get to pilot it himself– with the other ships for Temporal Defense being built on old lines too, it would be like a Fleet Review to pass alongside. Easily twenty drydocks were filled with various old friends, variants of ships he'd dreamed of someday commanding. Actually, they did look ready for a review, just with a few access ports open for minor components.

That was odd – a whole delivery from a bunch of shipyards out of Starfleet's eye, and no one in the Corps of Engineers was even looking in the nacelles to make sure a warp coil wasn't in backwards? He tapped the comm link. "Foch to Tarsi – pull the security guys together – look into all the data runs to the bridge. Be as suspicious as a Romulan at a Vulcan monastery."

The Andorian acknowledged, "Already started it as a drill – Skarvin passed along what you'd dug up on the transporter room – we're running the specs against what's state of the art. And I think we've bled past it."

"All right, let me check with what we have with Quinn on this," Foch said, and felt an old ferocity settle in. Someone was messing with his ship, and his crew. Garrett, other members, and a tradition that extended from Archer past his time to now, said it was time to stop playing the fool, and make this time his own.

* * *

He didn't quite make Quinn in the cavernous ESD – but did hit the operations commander. He was a little surprised Sulu had ended up a family man – the _Conestoga's_ crew had shared drinks after the Enterprise had saved them from a Klingon attack in neutral space, and it hadn't been mentioned. Of course, when telling the story publicly, Garret had swooped in, him at the helm, _Conestoga_ bravely driving the terrible Klingons from the famed ship.

Sulu had well-practiced ease at keeping angry captains pacified while repairs were prioritized at the Earth section of Sol's docks, but even he was impressed when he looked at Foch's message logs. "Message packet routing changed – looks like a coerced repeater satellite checking specifically for ship names – subtle altering of numbers and figures to change readiness levels," Sulu said. "And just looking at maintenance logs, two hours ago a power surge took out the repeater's data banks."

"Random?" Foch asked.

"As far as we can tell, though I'm tapping out orders to search for tachyon or chroniton residue… it's a possibility – rare, but certainly, well, noteworthy," Sulu said.

"Historically, yes, I could see it being deep in a future databank," Foch said grimly.

"Absolutely," Sulu said. "It could have easily been some future Federation operative as well. You probably could have left dock a few weeks ago, but instead the first of these temporal designs was in dock, and we've got a lot more targets to coordinate for Temporal Defense."

"The shipyard attack, yes," Foch said. "That's disturbing. Why didn't they just ask?" Sulu could only shrug.

"All right, so this should take care of the personnel drafts – as to the rest of the oddities," Sulu said, "Everything's at least referenced in scientific journals, but it's not exactly field equipment. As long as there hasn't been any control problems, Starfleet's willing to continue. They're built to time travel more gracefully and not look so out of place, and I really hope we don't need them."

"We're still having to rely on Daniels, especially, for temporal incursion monitoring," Foch said, "Maybe a close read of history books will help in other cases, and we're gradually unravelling the Na'kuhl attacks…"

"Federation Diplomatic Corps still is working on stabilizing and normalizing relations – whatever timeline they came from, maybe the Na'kuhl we're having to fight will have happy lives in the future," Sulu said optimistically.

 _I'll let you know how that works out_ , Foch thought to himself.

* * *

Foch found Revka and his new science officer in the engineering lab, working on some conglomeration of equipment. He saluted briefly on entering, handing over a set of captain's pins, which Revka took without comment, though she did return the salute.

"Admiral Quinn's aide said the paperwork came through – there'd be more of a ceremony, but," Foch shrugged. "Congratulations, you're now the Captain of the _Fuso_."

"Most of your crew is running duotronic/isolinear leads," Revka said, "But 718 here was able to help – be careful, or I'm going to steal him. He was a great help getting these cascade initiators put together." The bald human/cyborg (Foch just called him an android – it was more or less technically correct and less confusing.)

Foch looked at the equipment, it was certainly shiny. A vast set of seeming focus lenses and crystals. "718 may fit in there," he allowed, hoping they were going to give him a lead on what they were working on. Engineers. "He was intercepted from a transporter signal in an escape beamout from another timeline."

"Yes," 718 said, "Destroyed thanks to the Temporal Wars raging, it is my goal to prevent them here as best I can. Even if people keep referring to me as a 'Borg'. Captain Revka has some fascinating insights into the psychology of captains in the era, however."

Revka patted the equipment. "It's not much here, and needs a lot of power boosters for full effect – but the way the crystal matrices precipitate out is pretty random, even if you have time to go for more than a standard initiator, and there's always someone it seems working to utilize disruptors with the current equipment – even in my timeline."

"This is a disruptor system?" Foch said, the oversized parts going into perspective. "Field artillery?"

"Ship based system, tied to Starfleet standard initiators," Revka said, easily. This was familiar ground. "Completely different power system than the KDF, but it's adaptable – this one's not spectacular, has some high cohesion, but the shipyard said there's some Klingon colonies rebuilding their defenses, and they'd take these off our hands in exchange for some high-containment fusion vessels."

"Which gets the upgraded engines our engineer was looking for," 718 said.

"Black market?" Foch said, amused.

"No," Revka said. And then thought about it. "Probably yes in other standards – but the most valuable item now days for any Federation is time – these took a lot of staff to precipitate out, these final adjustments are simpler but delicate, but it's what we've been doing."

"And the effects of the lenses, at this density," 0718 said, "Are almost entirely random for each batch."

"Okay," Foch said, "I get it – you should have seen the race for customized shuttlecraft – that easy to build ships? I hadn't seen it like this."

"It's that easy to build and install subcomponents – the frames take some time, the basic coils, all the emitter arrays, the linear sensors, but you can tweak the performance with these big components that are simpler," Revka said. She looked at it and shook her head. "In my timeline, there was a lot of competition for better tunneling microscopes and clean signal boosters instead of better graviton projectors. Ah well, but the miles and miles of wiring and conduit, takes some time."

"And high-end ships like battlecruisers take longer – given Starfleet training times and the draw-down in general forces to refocus on exploration, even with additional pirate raids," 0718 said, "I estimate the capital ships provided to Temporal Investigations would allow a three percent increase in production on patrol and science craft that will minimize areas of Na'kuhl activity – the lessened time allows more high-end fabricators to dedicate to equipment, which should trickle down the fleet."

"Daniels keeps his thumb on the scales," Foch summarized, approvingly. "And it's a bit harder to spot with the cut-outs. I wonder what else he's planning."

"Probably very little," Revka said. "Oh, if the Prime Directive wasn't bad enough, but a good idea." Foch and 0718 stared. "History example," Revka offered, "My planet had a social structure that offered very limited mobility, even as technology started to improve after changes to the climate. Then, plagues brought on by warmer weather limited the ability of the old barons to enforce order, and people were able to move. It certainly helped democracy, but would you explain a brighter future depending on, oh, fifteen percent of all adults dying, if you could avoid it?"

"I can see why the future has apparently one man and local agents," Foch said, "Even if you need to bring them to the right time period."

"He's also gotten the Alliance's time defense organizations to gather almost every temporally displaced individual, through multiple means, into a single point," 0718 said. "At least, every individual emotionally capable of handling the burden of starship duty."

"Espirit de corps?" Foch said. "I can see it – who knows what he's hoping to found out of this. Maybe all those _Wells_ class in the Azure Nebula were going to a fleet reunion."

"Skarvin to Foch," came over the comm. Foch went to the wall panel to answer. "Captain – if the lab monkeys are done prepping for weapon smuggling, we could use them up here on Deck 6 for a second opinion."

Foch looked at the two, who nodded. "With our compliments, Captain Revka, if you could join me on the computer deck."

* * *

Skarvin, Tarsi, and a team of engineering officers and ratings were waiting, clustered between two junction boxes. Their familiar packaging was torn open, revealing a series of isolinear chips in alien configurations, darkly lit with green and yellow, instead of this era's omnipresent blue.

"We were checking everything," Skarvin insisted when he saw Foch, "Captain – Captain," he added, seeing Revka.

Tarsi had her arms folded. This had evidently been going on a while. "We've agreed – finally – this is anomalous. Consider it without the captain's order. It's a new ship after all, they'd have said something in the engineering manuals."

"Okay, that I'll concede," Skarvin said. "If only because the behind-lines eggheads don't want more trouble than they already have for thinking stuff is spec."

"Gentlemen," Foch said with some amusement. "I take it this is more than the usual disagreement and we have a problem?"

"A discrepancy," Skarvin said with a glare at Tarsi. "We're seeing a minor but consistent power leak between these junction boxes – their physical proximity does not explain the drop, and we cannot detect any leakage."

"What does this carry?" Foch asked.

"Backups for a lot of systems – direct line communication relays, computer relay between the primary and secondary core, relay to the primary deflector from the emergency bridge, and two of the backup sensor buses," Skarvin listed.

"That much running through there, I'm betting someone miswired something," Tarsi insisted.

"How many of those problems have we had?" Foch said. "Two?" Tarsi nodded. "And those were on surface units the dockyard was installing."

Revka looked, "Captain, I don't know how it was done exactly in the past, but there's more separate redundancies here than I would be comfortable with."

"Well, Captain, what would explain it?" Foch said, starting to pace. This seemed to be a leadership opportunity. Wordlessly, he grabbed 0718's tricorder, and thumbed through the programs the cyborg had set. "Some sort of processing node? Navigator? Communication?"

Revka said, "I'd almost expect auxiliary control, but could be astrometrics or even impulse control." Revka went over and leaned, but was unable to peer over his shoulder. "You think a listening post."

"I'm not sure…" Foch said, "Ah, here we go, let's try this out, eh 0718?" He tabbed up the 'anti-temporal probe' set up 0718 had. Oh, it was a little more complicated than that, but… he pressed the button and off it went.

And so did the ship. The space between the junction boxes writhed, shimmered – and suddenly a door was there where there had been nothing – and the sides of it seemed to be melting and reforming.

"More molecular control technology?" Foch asked, handing back the tricorder. 0718 flipped the topped of it open and scanned.

"Indeed, of a far more advanced level than we had previously seen."

"Amazing what has made it out of the labs in the next hundred years," Revka said, slightly shocked.

"Bridge watch to captain," whistled one of the panels, and continued without acknowledgement as the alert lights flashed to amber. "Captain, our status repeaters are… growing, and the dockyard just launched fighters and is demanding a status update."

"Tell them the situation is under control," Foch lied, as he walked into the area, followed by his crew and guests. Inside was a vast glass enclosure – green, holding… something, that writhed in the eyes.

"High levels of tachyon and chroniton particles. Some sort of temporal emission device," 0718 reported.

As he'd somewhat expected when strangeness occurred, a hologram of Daniels appeared when he put his hand on the center control panel. "Hello Captain, if this is playing, you found the little secret we sent back in our 'replica' ships – that they're not replicas. These aren't what the future uses, but they're close, if downgraded for your technology. We're unlocking the rest of the computer core – I'm afraid you'll need the help, but welcome to the _Paladin_ class."

"Well, the name works even better now," Foch said with elaborate casualness. "I suppose we should call the dockyard, let them know the _Roland_ is still the _Roland._ "

* * *

A few days later, a lot of the initial explanations were done, and the fleet was starting to take shape. Foch had come over to Revka's new _Fuso_ , now starting to approach having a crew, even if they took more training, with a bottle of Burgundy's, well, not best, but adequate, to celebrate the joint Temporal Defense task force getting off the ground.

"Ah, these, at least, are eternal and universal, the appreciation for a good drink," he said happily as he produced two glasses and poured. "This isn't the best I've seen, but it passed your toxicity screening – there was something about oak leaves."

He looked around as it breathed – Revka had apparently found the settings to have a more 'modern' ready room in the darker paneling and reflective desks of the current era. He hoped she hadn't tweaked it too far – someone had tried to improve the mattress in their quarters and melted all the chairs on the ship.

Revka noticed his looking around. "I tried to grow a conference room but they don't seem to have them on bridge level in the future," she said, "But the best I managed were some mounting brackets in here – anymore and you risk hull breaches. For shapeshifting future technology, it's temperamental."

"Probably someone defaulted on the 23rd – we didn't have hull space to put conference rooms on the same deck as command," Foch said. "It's all the little improvements that amaze me, the sheer _space_ of these ships. Everything's come so far, so many systems explored. Andoria to the Romulan border used to be a ways, now you can do it in a shuttle and a free hour."

"The more we travel, the less we know – we've _just_ gained the possibility of exploring time, and its affects and relations to space," Revka said. "Even with new, more powerful ships, it just gives us more options to go farther and explore even more than we could. And warp drive still is warp drive, no matter how big the coils."

"You've taken working to write the tactics manual with raw entropy well," Foch said, eyes narrowing. "Did this happen in your time?"

"What?" Revka said, and Foch read it – past the scales – as genuinely surprised by the question. He relaxed, but did his best not to show it. His guide to the time may have been picked by Daniels', but wasn't directly of his organization.

"No," Revka was continuing. "My timeline the _Odyssey_ was years out still, undergoing debates – let alone all the other ships that came by. I managed to get future shock and didn't even get to time travel."

"Well, then, a toast to the future," Foch said, and then pulled out a third glass. "Since if I know his odd sense of timing…"

"There's evidence of temporal incursions in the 23rd century beyond the Romulan Neutral Zone among the Tal Shiar," Daniel's voice came from behind them. Foch winked at his fellow captain and began to pour.

"Then pull up a chair, and give us what you can, and you can enjoy a drink. We'll find some local expert on Romulan infilitration, and see what Temporal Defense can do for you," Foch said with determination.

* * *

Author's note: Took a little longer to do both parts than I initially hoped. Foch (created for the Agents of Yesterday expansion) is French extraction, but is more a 14th century romantic than a 19th or 20th century one. He's an era when Starfleet Command wasn't always in reach, there were less ships, the Federation was a lot smaller and more decentralized, and a good right hook was often the best diplomacy to convince neutrals the Klingons were a bad idea.

So in an era where Starfleet has been shattered by the Iconian War, recently at war with the Klingons, and facing alien bizarre threats that have no historical reference, he should do okay.


End file.
